Stripped of its masts, and void of its oars, the twenty fathom vessel creaked and groaned upon the rippling dark waters it bobbed upon.
Twelve of the thirteen men appeared to be intoxicated. Hode noticed them flaccid on the deck, barely conversational, seemingly half awake.
Around them was a spray of mist, rancid, with a dubious air to it … a noxious odor, in contrast to the ordinary brine that licks the air sharply.
The thick-necked weed that had captured the boat, floated, covering the entire surface surrounding, stretching for one hundred feet. It appeared dead and gaseous, with bubbles forming around its rubbery mesh.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances
No comments:
Post a Comment